


Damian's First Day at School

by Ferith12



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst?, Damian has no social skills, Gen, Lonliness, Poor Damian, Trying to be normal is harder than trying to be the Great Damian Wayne, and a little identity crisis thrown in for good measure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferith12/pseuds/Ferith12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian's first day at school doesn't go at all like he planned.<br/>Damian has no idea what to do in this situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damian's First Day at School

Damian had thought he was prepared for school. Popular culture, and even a few things that his predecessors (usurpers) had let slip had formed in him a few expectations. He had expected to be bullied, either physically or verbally.

There were many reasons for this. For one, he was entering elementary school in the fifth grade, he would be the “New Kid” amidst a vast majority who had known each other since, quite possibly, kindergarten. Added to this was the fact that he had always been taught by private tutors of his mother’s choosing, this meant that he was far ahead of the other children in most subjects and sadly lacking in a few others (American history, for instance), for this reason he could be persecuted either for his great intelligence, or his perceived inadequacies. He realized, also, that his manner of speech was unusual, far more intelligent than that of the ordinary idiots he anticipated meeting at school, but certainly different, and this, the popular children's books that he had read to prepare himself led him to believe, would make them scorn him.

  
He had prepared for this. In fact, he had even been looking forward to it. If they chose to try to hurt him physically, they would soon find how ridiculously outmatched they were. He would not, of course, defend himself in any obvious manner, he could not risk incriminating himself, after all, but he could ensure certain accidents occurred. If, instead, they chose to insult him verbally, he could easily reciprocate in ways would send send the childish fools away sobbing. Either way he would triumph. This day Damian al Ghul Wayne would prove conclusively that he was their superior and a man (or at the very least, a boy) to be feared.

  
But… that was not what happened.  
Grayson drove him to school, speaking incessantly, and, to his mind, rather incoherently, the whole way. When they reached the school (which would have seemed an impressive building if Damian had not been of the houses al Ghul and Wayne. As it was it seemed adequate. Barely.) and he was about to exit the car the idiot reached out and hugged him in a public display that even the common infantile children his age would, he was sure, find humiliating. It took him a full half second to extricate himself and hurry into the school, sending a growl behind him.

  
All this had been expected. Even the impromptu hug, as infuriating as it had been. But from this point his expectations became unceremoniously and completely crushed.

  
He entered his classroom just as the second warning bell rang, along with a crowd of other children and seated himself near the door in the most tactically advantageous spot. No one seemed to notice. This shocked him, a little. In fact, though he would never admit it to himself, it shocked him a great deal. He had never gone unnoticed in his life unless he wanted to, and though this development could have easily been foreseen, (after all, how was the teacher to know that he was in the presence of the great Damian al Ghul Wayne,) it hurt more than he would ever admit.

  
He knew that such thoughts were a little childish. He was deserving of great honor, it was true, but to expect it without having proved himself was foolish. He knew this. He knew how all his tutors had had low opinions of him, how even the slightest mistake was unthinkable, because it would make him lose his credibility, bring dishonor upon his house, how some of them never did respect him, right up to the point at which he killed them.

  
But this was different. What was bothering him at the moment was not so much that these people did not respect or revere him, but that they simply seemed indifferent to him. This had never happened to Damian before. He didn’t know what to do.

  
So he went to default, simply scowling one of his best scowls as he sat perfectly erect and regal at his desk.

  
The teacher called roll. When he came to Damian’s name he made absolutely no note of it. It was simply part of a list. Damian could not understand this.  
Thus it continued in class after class and in the halls between classes. No one paid any mind to him at all. No one tried to hurt him emotionally or physically. No one seemed to care about him either way, and he had absolutely no chance to prove himself.

  
The halls were crowded, so children would occasionally bump into him, yet they were immediately swallowed up again in the stream of people so that it was impossible for him to wreck his revenge.

  
And he continued to be ignored. This hurt. He was surrounded by more people than he had ever been with before, yet he felt more alone now than he ever had, and that was saying something, because, well there had never been many people in Damian’s life, and despite any claims to the contrary, he had often felt lonely. But this feeling of being completely ignored, it scared him. He, Damian al Ghul Wayne was afraid. He was totally freaked out and out of place and he had no training or experience or anything to tell what to do in this situation.

  
Of course he would not deign to approach one of these children himself. (if he was honest with himself, which of course he was not, he would know that he did not have anywhere near enough courage to do so, and even if he mustered the courage he would have no idea what to do, what to say, how to act anything approaching like an actually normal, adjusted or friendly child.)  
Some part of him, that he refused to acknowledge, wondered what was wrong with him. He had been taught all his life that he was better than all these childish fools. He had been taught he was an al Ghul and heir to the Bat and that put him in a special category of human being. He was created for purpose, to be great, to rule. If all could not see this even in the slightest sense, even enough to feel barely threatened, HE HAD TO BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG.

  
Over the course of the day his mood became darker and his scowl became downright terrifying. Children avoided him if they saw his face. If they didn’t, most of them didn’t notice, though about half were intimidated enough by his posture that they avoided him anyway.  
He gloried a bit in their fear, but it wasn’t much. It was certainly not enough to assuage his inner turmoil. The inner turmoil that only grew worse for not having been acknowledged.

  
Lunch came around. He had brought his own meal, made especially for him by Alfred. He at least could pity the poor fools who would have to survive on cafeteria fare. Almost. Not quite. Not even very close to quite.

  
He once again chose the most advantageous place to sit. It was at an empty table next to an empty table. As other children came to sit and eat they immediately saw or perceived the aura he had about him that spelled death in quite clear terms in every language. No one sat at either table. Quite a few stared, yet almost immediately melted into their own groups of friends, talking and laughing and the small, angry figure at his lonely table was forgotten.

  
Damian knew he should be glad of his lonely state. He had made them fear him with a mere look. Yet they had not simply feared him. They had forgotten him. It hurt deeply to be forgotten.

  
During the next few classes he… endured. At least, he did not let on to anyone that at this point he wanted nothing more than to crumple up into a little ball (how very juvenile) and cry.  
But he had to admit it to himself, because it was work keeping the tears from his eyes and swallowing down the lump in his throat and keeping his glare up at slow incineration level. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.


End file.
